


In Maledicta Veritas

by Ms_FangTooth



Category: Legends of Tomorrow
Genre: Between Seasons 1 and 2, Gen, RipFic, team fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-18
Updated: 2021-01-18
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:41:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28837968
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ms_FangTooth/pseuds/Ms_FangTooth
Summary: While hunting aberrations with the Legends, Rip Hunter gets hit with a very inconvenient curse.
Comments: 8
Kudos: 21





	In Maledicta Veritas

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Drogna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Drogna/gifts).



> This was written for Drogna for the Rip Hunter Discord Chat Fic Exchange!
> 
> A thank you to [ams75](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ams75) for the beta!

The first indication that something was wrong was when the Waverider arrived in 1492 to deal with a time aberration involving the launch of the Niña, Pinta, and the El Hijo del Santo. Rip had opened his mouth to give the usual “Please, for god’s sake, don’t destroy the timeline today.” speech, and what came out was: “Expedition, Goose, Hoverfish.”

“Um. Is that a metaphor?” Jax had asked, while the others stared.

“No.” Rip looked as puzzled as the rest of them. “No, I can’t imagine where that came from.” He shook his head and dismissed it as a lingering time displacement effect. This, naturally, led to the resident arsonist and former Time Renegade labeling him a ‘lightweight’. Rip’s retort was sufficiently eloquent and acidic enough to show that his temporary lapse had been just that. He concluded with, “I know that Captain Columbus is a giant arse, but please, for the love of God, don’t destroy the timeline today.” And all was right in the world.

Until it happened again.

-

It was the post mission briefing. All things considered, the Christopher Columbus mission had gone very well. Jax did end up punching the man out cold at one point, but even Rip couldn’t say much about that. It had been deserved. This meant that, for once, Rip was actually giving the team something resembling lukewarm praise!

The shock was apparently too much for the man, because he’d just finished complimenting Sara’s skill with a makeshift harpoon when what came out next was: “Octopus. Galapagos. Fig Newtons.”

“Perhaps you should get some rest, Captain.” Martin suggested, a slightly worried look on his face.

“Perhaps you’re right.” Rip did look pretty tired, but then almost drowning will do that to a man. At least Gideon had no problem repairing his coat.

-

It kept happening. Sporadically at first, but then the lapses became more common and longer. It had been a little funny the first time that Rip’s “informative lecture” had gone on as ten minutes of gibberish, until they realized that Rip couldn’t stop.

“The Englishman never made sense anyway,” Mick grumbled, “what’s the difference?”

But, jokes aside, the crew had gotten pretty good at decoding Rip-speak over the course of their quest. By now, Sara and Jax had amassed enough knowledge of the Waverider between them to understand most of Rip’s ship-related technobabble. Martin, Ray, and sometimes even Mick could usually figure out the temporal stuff, depending on whether or not it was theoretical or practical. But not even Gideon could decode a seemingly random string of unrelated nouns.

Within a few days, Rip’s “condition” had gone from strange but mildly amusing to downright alarming. He could still understand the crew when they spoke, at least as much as he ever had. (A few weeks into their travels, the crew had realized that despite his voluminous knowledge of many periods of history, Rip had no idea about early 21st Century pop culture. The resulting educational experience had been fun for everyone. Except probably Rip.) But soon, every time he’d opened his mouth, all that came out was nonsense.

At first, Rip had been able to work around it. Writing things down had worked for a time, at least when the crew didn’t pretend to be illiterate, but then one morning they were greeted with “Sunrise. Rooster. Elephant” written in Rip’s surprisingly elegant handwriting (Mary Xavier had been a stickler for penmanship), and a fairly despondent Time Captain.

British Sign Language was trickier, as only Gideon and unexpectedly Jax, were able to understand it. It worked for a day or two, until “Eagle. Shark. Hydrochloric Acid.”

“I don’t understand how that works.” Ray commented. “Can’t you just stop moving your hands?” At Rip’s glare, he apologized immediately.

In desperation, Rip had tried to resort to other languages. This was how the crew learned that the Time Masters did not primarily use English to conduct business, but rather a Frankensteinian mix of bad Greek, worse Latin, and the worst of English academic syntax.

Martin’s horror was so profound that it offended Gideon and he had to take ice-cold showers for a week.

Eventually, Rip’s “idiopathic aphasia” (™ Martin) accelerated to the point where the only language that Rip could manage was his mother tongue, which bewilderingly turned out to be 25th Century Esperanto.

“I thought you were Victorian English.” Mick growled.

“Ĝi estas komplika,” said Rip.

-

Of course, there were attempts made to find a cause and a cure. The sickbay scanners were state of the art, even by Time Master standards. (The Time Masters were quite generous when it came to medical care for their captains. Mental health however was a field long neglected.) But they could detect no damage to Rip’s mind that would prevent him from being able to communicate.

“So it’s all psychotic? In his head?” Mick asked, skeptically.

“Ah, I believe the word is psychosomatic.”

“What’s the difference? He’s always been nuts.” 

“Donkey. Baboon. Turkey.”

“Hey, who’s a turkey?!”

-

As Rip’s condition worsened, his sense of isolation from his team grew. There was always a distance between them, for all that he loved them dearly. The gulf of experience, culture, and perspective seemed almost insurpassable at the best of times. But he had been trying. And the crew had been trying. And it was only now that he had lost the ability to speak to them that Rip truly appreciated the progress that they’d made.

And of course, even at his worst and loneliest, he’d always had Gideon. Until now.

Rip had been alone in his quarters, ~~brooding~~ _contemplating_ his circumstances, when Sara appeared in the door. “Mind if I keep you company?”

She’d talked through the evening. Cheerful anecdotes of a childhood spent with a loving sister and dear friends. Eventually it turned into a lament of recent losses. In her anguish, Sara revealed perhaps a little more about her future plans than she’d intended.

A good Time Master might have scolded her, but at the moment, Rip lacked the ability. In truth, he also lacked the inclination. He was in no fit position to judge another person’s grief, nor their attempts to repair it. Who knew? Maybe she would even succeed where he failed.

After Sara left, eyes red-rimmed, but looking calm and at peace, Jax appeared, with a few DVDs in hand. Rip hadn’t even realized they’d kept such antiquated audio-visual equipment on the ship. As it turned out, they hadn’t. Jax had built it himself.

“I’m not missing B’Elanna Torres for anything, man.”

There was a lot of science fiction. It ought to have been strange, watching so many programs that were, essentially, an alternate history for him. But Jax’s enthusiasm was infectuous. Rip just hoped that Jax wasn’t too inspired by some of the engineering feats on screen. At least not without some appropriate safety measures and a quick introduction to 22nd Century temporal physics.

As they watched, Jax talked. First, it was just a comforting running commentary. Eventually, the conversation drifted to Jax himself. His fears and anxieties. His worry about measuring up, especially to Martin. Had he the ability, Rip would have tried to reassure him. He would perhaps have pointed out that, as brilliant as Martin undoubtedly was, the scientist was far better at getting himself or the crew into trouble than Jax ever was. He would have praised Jax’s stable sensibility, and his bright adaptability.

Or perhaps he wouldn’t have. Rip had never been communicative with his crew in the way he might have liked to be. It was a little funny that he’d only realized that now, when he was literally unable to express himself.

After Jax came Martin, with some notepads full of equations. Rip hadn’t been sure exactly what Martin expected. It wasn’t like Rip was inclined to weigh in on Martin’s work at the best of times. To be frank, Martin’s brilliance could sometimes border on terrifying. Already, his insights into temporal physics had started to inch toward the kind of work that led to Time Masters appearing on one’s doorstep with a memory wipe device. Or recruitment papers. Rip was a little worried about what the man might come up with if Rip carelessly let the wrong concept slip out. But Martin tended to enjoy having a captive audience.

He also seemed to delight in seeing Rip’s appalled wince when his theories got too out there. Or too accurate. Martin, Rip thought with annoyance, had something of a sadistic side.

And eventually, like the others before him, Martin started to speak of other things. Clarissa mostly. His love for her. His gratitude that his blunder in the past hadn’t cost him everything. And he spoke of that dreadful temptation that if he ever met his past self again, he’d tell him to go to his wife, hold her tight, and never let her go.

As with Sara, Rip knew what he was supposed to say to something like this. The Time Masters had made their opinions very clear on such matters. And Rip would not, could not, tell another man to stop treasuring every waking moment he had with the love of his life. For the first time, Rip was almost grateful that he couldn’t respond.

It wasn’t lost on Rip that his crew had chosen now as the time to express themselves so honestly. Perhaps they were trying to reciprocate: to answer his vulnerability with a little of their own. Perhaps they were taking the opportunity to say what they had always wanted, without fear of his response. Rip didn’t know. But he resolved to work harder, to learn to trust and be trusted.

Ray came after Martin. Rip had braced himself for more nerve-wracking science, but Ray had other ideas. He was carrying board games, of all things. The boxes were colorful, labeled with helpful and appropriate names such as “Trouble” and “Sorry”. Rip couldn’t imagine where they might have come from. The Time Masters had never encouraged this sort of hobby, and Mary Xavier’s tastes tended toward more old fashioned pastimes. Perhaps he and Miranda had obtained them for Jonas?

“I guess Clue and Battleship are out.” Ray said sheepishly, setting aside the first two boxes in the pile. It wasn’t long before he’d chosen one of the many, nearly indistinguishable brightly colored games and they lost themselves with the soothing monotony of dice and tokens.

Unlike the others, Ray didn’t speak of anger or anxiety. Instead, he spoke of gratitude. This adventure has been an opportunity for Ray to be the hero that he’d always wanted to be. He’d been able to help people, freely and openly. In Star City, he had been a billionaire first. He’d tried to do well, but had been blinded by wealth and privilege, stuck in a cocoon that stopped him from just going out there and being the man that he truly wanted to be. Sydney was welcome to the company. Ray had something much better now.

Rip had thought that Ray would be his last visitor. It was getting late, after all, and the others were all busy working or sleeping. But to his surprise, Mick Rory appeared at his door. He grunted something that might have been a greeting and walked inside, brandishing a beer bottle.

It took a moment for Rip to realize that Mick was actually offering it to him. He recoiled slightly at the thought of _American beer_ of all things. He patted Mick’s shoulder before the other man could get too offended and reached into one of his book cases for a decanter of something much stronger.

“Ain’t here for chatting.” Mick accepted the offered glass and they sat, and drank, in a very comfortable silence.

It was very late when Mick left. So late that even night owls had to come in to roost. Rip was exhausted. 

His thoughts kept echoing in his mind. Things that he wished he could say. Things that he knew he could never say. The painful acknowledgement that his isolation was self-imposed, and only exacerbated, not created by his current predicament.

He could do nothing about that now, of course but wallow in his self-recrimination without distraction or relief. His team had done what they could to alleviate his solitude, and he loved them even more for it, but now he was alone in the dark, and sleep would not come.

“It occurs to me, Captain Hunter, that this is a rare opportunity for me as well.” Or perhaps not so alone, Rip thought, as Gideon’s crisp voice rang through the room. “I have been going over some of our old mission logs and it occurs to me that I have been remiss in not sharing some important _constructive criticism_.

“For example, before one disembarks on a mission in Alpha Centauri, it would behoove certain captains to actually listen to their A.I.’s briefing. Then they would perhaps remember that Centurions have a propensity for vibro-weapons, and thence avoid coming back missing their left hand.”

The Alpha Centauri mission had been a very old one. One of the first they’d completed as a pair, in fact. Gideon apparently still had quite strong feelings about it. Rip couldn’t blame her necessarily, it was true that if he took her advice more often, he’d likely have needed less first hand experience with the limb regenerator.

Gideon had a lot of strong feelings about their missions, Rip was coming to realize, as she moved onto the _next_ mission. One that Rip couldn’t quite remember, as he’d spent quite a lot of the aftermath trying to match a speedster’s alcohol tolerance. Ah, and indeed, this lecture was about the dangers of pickling one’s liver.

Rip couldn’t help but notice either that while Gideon clearly had no intention of stopping any time soon, she had lowered her voice to a soft, soothing cadence. Without even realizing it, Rip fell asleep.

-

The next morning, Rip was quite refreshed. More than that, he had a solution to their dilemma. Now he just had to communicate it to the others. He focused all of his concentration onto conveying this idea.

“Are you having an aneurysm?”

“Ouija. Tarot. Exorcism.” He managed, turning an undignified shade of red with the effort. He couldn’t suppress the triumph in the last syllable.

He repeated it again. “Ouija. Tarot. Exorcism.”

It took a while before anyone figured out what he meant. But after a few more repetitions, Sara figured it out.

“Magic?”

It made sense when they thought about it. They’d ruled out a physical injury as a cause. The parts of the brain that managed speech were not the same as the ones that managed writing or gestures. It wasn’t likely that an injury could affect all three without also impacting other important brain functions like motor skills or comprehension. 

Unfortunately, Sara was the only member of the team with any real experience with magic. And even then that was more as the magickee than the magicker. But it did mean that she knew of an expert that they could contact.

Even more unfortunately, Rip knew him too.

“Well, this should be interesting.” Gideon said, dryly.

**********************

“No. Absolutely not. Whatever you’re here for, mate, I want no part of it!”

It hadn’t taken long to track John Constantine down. Magic had a very distinct ambient energy and there were only a few dive bars in the area. The team easily found him, slumped, bleary-eyed over a shot glass. His hair was inexplicably dyed black and his clothes screamed aging punk rocker. Rip guessed that John was practicing the time honored art of hiding from everyone who cared about him and burying his problems under bad decisions and copious amounts of alcohol.

As a virtuoso in the art field himself, Rip could recognize a like mind.

Unfortunately, John recognized him too. And was holding a grudge. Quite vocally. It was remarkably childish, Rip thought churlishly, the way John refused to let him get a word in edgewise. Not that he could have gotten a word in edgewise anyway, but it was a matter of principle.

The crew, of course, were fascinated.

“And then this bloody wanker decides that the best thing for the village is to offer _himself_ up as a human sacrifice. As though I’d have any possible way to get home after that! I didn’t fancy myself a permanent resident of the sixteenth century, thank you very much!”

That was decidedly unfair, Rip thought. John had been more than happy to go sniffing about Sir John Dee’s library. As well as Sir John Dee himself. Rip hadn’t heard so many bad star-themed pick up lines since the first time he had to solve an anomaly at a NORWAC convention. And not all of them were coming from John.

Gideon would have taken him home eventually. Rip opened his mouth to respond, but what came out was:

“Door. Bridge. Catapult.”

“Get over it? You’d like that, wouldn’t you.” John snapped back, stung. Then he did a double take. “What the hell happened to you?”

Rip did his own double take.

“Spring. Lightning. Waterfowl.”

“Suppose it could be a spell, yeah. But more likely it’s a curse. You been poking around any old artifacts lately?” John peered at Rip, his antagonism forgotten in the wake of this new puzzle.

“Anchor. Key. Artichoke.”

“Maybe? If anyone’s git enough to piss off arcanists that he hasn’t even met yet, it’d be Columbus. Nice work, by the way.” John said to Jax. “Hello again, Sara.” He gave her a flash of a grin before scrutinizing Rip again.

“All right. I think I can help you.” At Rip’s raised eyebrow, John rolled his eyes. “You’re a little too pathetic like this to make for a decent argument.”

-

They’d gone back to the Waverider. John had explained that comfortable, familiar surroundings would be best for the curse-breaking spell. Gideon had been less than thrilled with the idea of candles and sigils strewn throughout her ship. She’d taken to waspishly citing fire statistics to express that displeasure.

“Goldfish. Teacup. Xanadu.” Rip said, mildly.

“You might be right, mate. Maybe she likes it better when you’re not prattling off in her ear all day.”

Gideon’s mutterings subsided, but there was a resentful little dimming of the lights in the room.

“I think you’re going to regret that later.” John noted. Rip’s nod was rueful.  
The spell itself was very impressive. The intricate sigils represented hours of careful work, and John definitely knew how to put on a show. The hard part, though, had to come from Rip himself.

A curse like the one plaguing Rip worked off of symbols, John had explained. Or tried to explain. It was pretty clear early on that none of the Legends had much of a head for magic. Even Martin had been lost by the more technical explanations, much to his disappointment and the others’ relief. Rip could only imagine the kind of trouble the scientist could cause if he were able to add magic as a variable to his work. At any rate, to break the curse, Rip would have to engage in some kind of symbolic gesture that ran counter to the curse’s purpose. It was also something that ran counter to his own nature. But it had to be done.

Rip Hunter would have to tell the truth.

Seven was a mystical number, and therefore, Rip would have to tell seven truths. And it was possibly the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.

Of course, Rip tried to take the easy route. “The sky is blue.” “The Waverider can fly.” “Mick Rory is inebriated.” But a curse couldn’t be cheated like that. Rip’s truths had to be significant and meaningful.

Rip looked at his team and thought about how they’d each come to him, how they each confided in him, and how he’d had no way to respond.

“Ms. Lance… _Sara_ , you are the strongest person I know. I will never tell you to stop trying to find a way to save your sister. I don’t know if it will be possible. But I know that I trust you, more than anyone, to keep perspective. I know that you’ll do what you need to do to save the timeline.” As Rip spoke, the energy flared, and from the look on Sara’s face, she’d heard every word.

“That’s one.” John said, with smug satisfaction.

He hesitated. He was used to addressing his crewmates formally, to hiding behind the distance of “Misters” and “Doctors”. But even Rip realized that this wasn’t the time for that. He needed to speak his truths to them. Not their titles.

“ _Jax_. In my entire life, I’ve never met anyone as resourceful and adaptable as you are. You are the finest engineer I’ve ever had the pleasure to work with, and there is no one that I would trust more with the Waverider. You have nothing but possibilities ahead of you.” Jax’s shy smile meant far more than the energy flare ever could. Maybe there was something to be said for this kind of openness.

“ _Martin_. You are a phenomenal scientist, but what I admire most about you is your capacity to love. Sometimes, when you speak of Clarissa, I find myself burning with envy, because what you have is something I may never know again. But there is no one who deserves it more.”

“ _Ray_. You are possibly the strongest man I know. The fact that you can wake up each day and just choose to see the best in people, to reach out to help them without fear or resentment, that’s something I will always admire. Because I know it’s a choice. I know you’ve lost people and endured much that by all rights should have made you jaded, but you’ve chosen not to let it. I wish that I knew how to do that.”

“ _Mick_.” And here, Rip hesitated. He honestly had no idea what to say to Mick Rory. He never really knew what to say to Mick Rory. There was so much between them, in a strange sort of way. The Time Masters. Chronos. Mick, for his part, was looking at him with a kind of cynical resignation. “I think we’re more alike than I’ve ever wanted to acknowledge. And I think that’s why I never really know what to say to you. But the truth is, I’m very glad that you’ve chosen to stay with us.”

It didn’t feel like enough. But the spell flared. And Mick Rory looked surprised and perhaps thoughtful.

“ _Gideon_. You have been my closest friend for as long as I can remember. You’ve seen the worst of me and pulled me back from the brink more times than I can count. I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for you, and I know that I haven’t done enough to demonstrate that. Thank you.”

And one more.

“ _John_.” The magician’s mouth dropped open, the ever present cigarette falling to his feet. He’d clearly not expected to be involved. “Go _home_. There are people who care about you, and when you hide from them, you’re only hurting yourself. I’m speaking from experience.”

“Fuck off, mate.” But the spell flared one last time, and then died. The sigils dissolved, and the candles snuffed themselves.

“Did it work?”

Rip opened his mouth to test it. “Safety. Home. Family.” He said, with a slight smile. “Yes, it worked.”

**********************

**An Optional Epilogue:**

The atmosphere of the Waverider had changed after John Constantine’s ritual. It reminded Sara of the morning after a very wild party, where too much alcohol had led to a little more honesty than anyone was expecting.

Rip, of course, dealt with the odd tension as ably as he ever did. He snapped at everyone, including Gideon, until someone snapped back. This time it was John, who told him to stop being a wanker and suck it up. His crew now knew he loved them, and Rip would just have to deal with it.

For a moment, Rip looked like he was about to tear someone’s head off. But then, he stopped and sighed so deeply that it looked almost like he’d deflated. “Come with me. Please. I have to show you something.”

Rip led them toward his parlor, then stopped in front of it. He knelt and started poking at the floor, before lifting it up to reveal a small compartment. He retrieved a cloth bundle and unwrapped it to reveal a small wooden object.

“This is a piece of the Spear of Destiny, an artifact so powerful it could rewrite reality. I’ve been hiding it for a very long time, but there are some very powerful, very dangerous people who are going to come after it.”

Sara looked up at the others. Their faces all said the same thing. She smiled at Rip, and put her hand on his arm. “So how do we get ready to fight them?”


End file.
